


Our New Tales

by AislinCeivun



Category: A Night of a Thousand Dreams (Manhwa)
Genre: Flashbacks, Fluff, Lime, Love, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Romance, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-09
Updated: 2012-12-09
Packaged: 2017-11-20 16:38:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/587496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AislinCeivun/pseuds/AislinCeivun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sehara is reminiscing about the past and dreaming about the future… oh, and Shahryar is nibbling. A slice of their new tale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our New Tales

**Author's Note:**

> First published on FFN at 31th March, 2012.  
> The story was beta'ed by Priya (*sesshoulover).
> 
> Insallah: (In shaa'Allah, Arabic: إن شاء الله ) is an Arabic term to indicate hope for an aforementioned event to occur in the future. The phrase translates into English as "God willing" or "If it is God's will". (from Wikipedia)
> 
> Beware of spoilers through volume 7-11, mostly for the Jerusalem & Beijing arc!

It was a quiet and still night in Baghdad. Like a blanket, pitch-black darkness covered the houses while small lampions and oil lamps stood on the windowsills, blinking sleepily – giving the impression of brilliant stars fallen from the sky right into the middle of the desert. As the night wore on, the stars disappeared, but one building kept on emitting its light into the darkness with confidence.

In one of the rooms of the imposing palace, Sehara lay wordlessly on the enormous bed while caressing the ebony hair of the man nuzzled up to him with gentle fingers. His eyes were fixated on the lampion hanging down from the ceiling, the glass of which wrapped the whole room into warm orange light, but his thoughts were far, far away.

A strange nostalgia had awakened in him right after sunset, and even though his sultan saw to it that a completely different _something_ engrossed his mind for some time, after Shahryar fell asleep, the nostalgic feeling returned.

Just how long ago had Sehara stepped through the gates of the palace for the first time and entered the sultan's chamber? It surely couldn't be that long ago as he felt it, yet it was like everything had happened millennia ago; the times where tales were born, where stories were committed to paper and where nobody knew that at one point in the future a humble boy whose heart held nothing but obeisance will tell the tales to a man with a broken soul and wounded heart – healing and bringing him back to life.

Oh, but so many things had happened till they got where they stood now! Sehara experienced adventures like the heroes of his stories; he came to know and took into his heart so many people that he felt like there was nearly not enough time in the world that would be enough to write everything he had seen and experienced down to paper.

Just a quick glance down at the sleeping face of Shahryar and warmth spread through his chest as though he had drunk alcohol.

The sultan slept with a peaceful, relaxed expression, his long, black lashes cast dark shadows onto his face. When Sehara's stroking fingers touched the side of his ear for a moment, the man puffed in his sleep, then nuzzled closer up to the bard and put a possessive arm around him, rubbing his nose to the curve of Sehara's shoulders. Sehara smiled, and not only because in this pose, the warm breath of Shahryar was falling against his neck in a tickling motion.

His beloved sultan… Yes, it was Shahryar on whom the elapsed time could be detected most easily. On his softened features, in his warm eyes, on his vague smiles… He hadn't changed fundamentally, as he was still the same hot-blooded, quick-tempered, harsh and fierce man as before (what's more, he also kept that childish streak of him which he used oh-so-often while facing Sehara), yet he still became another man: he took a new lease on life, and no one could deny this change. And Sehara took immense joy in the fact that he could be a part of which made the once ruthless sultan _human_ again.

But now Sehara was different as well. When upon returning from Jerusalem he had to understand that Shahryar is dead, his heart broke to tiny little pieces, and his soul died along with his sultan. Never before in his life had he felt so much pain as he did at that time – he hadn't even thought he was capable of such a feeling. Even now, as he was recalling the moment, he could still feel the streaming hot tears on his cheeks, the warm arms which Dunja clasped around him in sympathy while trying to comfort him with quietly whispered words. Later, Maseru visited Sehara in his room with hot tea and some food. Sehara couldn't bear even the look of it, he just stared into the thin air with red eyes, broken, but Maseru did not leave him alone until he drank at least the tea. The bodyguard didn't say a word, he didn't try to comfort the bard, and Sehara knew that the man was just as shattered by the death of Shahryar as he, himself, was. When Maseru squeezed his shoulders before leaving and giving him an intense look, there was so much sympathy in his eyes that Sehara's tears nearly started flowing again.

He had to go; he couldn't stay in Baghdad. Jafar, now promoted sultan, had assured Sehara that he is welcomed in the palace for as long as he would like, the bard however was not capable of living in the same place for any longer where everything and everyone reminded him of Shahryar. He tried, he really tried, but he couldn't. All of his life he was famous for his unshakable composure yet at that time, he found himself nearly drowning in madness because of his constant presence between the walls of the palace. Then one night, he couldn't bear it any longer: he put on his travelling robe and disappeared into the night without bidding farewell to anyone. His heart ached, especially because he left without a word even to Dunja but he knew: had his little sister learnt what he was planning she would have never let him go.

He didn't really remember how he got to Beijing. He was a living dead at that time, only a dim shadow of his former self who could not rejoice in the morning sun anymore. The tears had long dried but the wound in his heart was still there; bleeding inside him quietly, unseen. The years, as they came and went, seemed to drag on forever tormenting, and Sehara chose to close his eyes to the painful reality.

Then one day, a wonderful, beautiful day he found the man who was thought to be dead in the garden, and Sehara came back to life right in that second. He still found it hard to believe… The whole scene was like as if he had been dropped into one of his beloved tales… But no, Shahryar was there for real. Wounded, tired, but _alive_. Second time in his life Sehara burst into tears but now it was caused by happiness. There was no end to the grateful prayers which he had whispered that night while sitting at the bedside of the sleeping Shahryar, praising the mercy of Allah.

He is never going to forget Shahryar's look from the moment he opened his eyes. He is never going to forget his voice, his smile, his kiss. Every word, every touch, every motion burnt into Sehara's soul, and never before had he felt affection so strongly inside his chest like he did at that time. Never before had he felt _love_ singing in him with such a consuming fire. And Shahryar was reciprocating all of these.

They returned to Baghdad hand in hand. Maseru – strong, frim Maseru – was racing towards them as though they had been coming back from the underworld, and pulled his master into his embrace while Dunja did the same to Sehara. Sultan Jafar then stepped in front of them and welcomed his friends with a warm smile on his lips. Everyone was so happy…

"Mmh…"

The small noise pulled Sehara out of the depth of his thoughts immediately. He stroked a black curl away from Shahryar's forehead, and looked down into the heavily opening eyes with a bright smile on his face.

"Sehara," the sultan muttered with a raspy voice while pulling the blond man closer to himself, and then murmured right into his skin: "Why aren't you sleeping?"

"I was just thinking."

"Don't you think enough at daytime?" Sehara shivered when Shahryar pressed his face to the delicate skin of his neck before lazily biting on the blond's collarbone. "I obviously didn't tire you out enough. It will not happen tomorrow, you have my word on it."

"May Allah protect me," Sehara said chuckling.

Hearing this Shahryar got up onto his elbows, leant onto Sehara and as soon as his lips were pressed against the bard's mouth, Sehara stopped laughing. The sultan kissed him with the usual strengths and vehemence, so Sehara slid his hand into the shining ebony locks and made a gentle but definite attempt at softening the dance of their lips. Shahryar kept on assertively demonstrating his power through the kiss but after some time, he complied.

The heat of the Arabian night was nothing compared to the fire which blazed inside Sehara's chest. His whole being was filled with flames, flooding every part of his body with prickling warmth and he knew that there was nothing in the world for which he would have given this moment away. He was there exactly where he belonged to, with the man he loved with all of his heart. This was enough.

"Sehara." The deep velvety voice made Sehara shiver. "Sehara. Sehara," the sultan repeated persistently as though the name was a mantra, and snaked his arms firmly around the royal bard.

He did that fairly often. Sehara smiled, and kissed the tip of the man's chin. "What do you wish for, my sultan?"

"It was a poetic question, wasn't it?" Shahryar asked while moving his mouth to Sehara's neck, gently but at the same time forcefully nibbling the skin there. "If I have to bid farewell to sleeping I would rather spend the rest of the night with something useful."

"With something 'useful'? I am not sure it wasn't _pleasant_ what you meant, my lord." Sehara closed his eyes and tried keeping the hot hands which were dancing around his naked chest in a thrilling motion out of his mind. It was hard.

"Pleasant _and_ useful," Shahryar mumbled into Sehara's soft skin. He bit on it in a somewhat vigorous way before saying mockingly: "I'm not taking no for an answer, bard! I may not be the ruler of this land anymore but nevertheless, as a previous sultan, I am to be entitled as such for as long as I live. So obey your master!"

"You're behaving like a child, Shahryar. Just a few couple of hours have passed since the setting of the sun. You're expecting too much from me." He couldn't resist the temptation and lifted his head from the pillow to press a small kiss on the sultan's face. "And for that matter, you would get tired of me the second I started bowing to every word that comes out of your mouth.

"Get tired? Of you? Impossible." The dark haired man threw an arm over Sehara, caging the bard's neck with both hands, and lowered his head so close to him that their breaths mixed. "You are a puzzle, Sehara, which was never seen in the world before. At first glance, just a simple, meek young man, a humble bard… but two sentences from you and something indescribable flashes through your figure. You spread inside me… washing me like water washes the stone cliffs, and you surprise me over and over again. I will never get tired of you, Sehara." It was barely above a whisper as he added: "I will never let you go."

At the sultan's words Sehara's face flushed bright red. Embarrassed, he lowered his eyes and tried to turn his head away but Shahryar grabbed his face and held him still. He clutched the bard's chin and lifted his head, not stopping for as long as their mouths met.

Sehara gave in to the kiss without thoughts and this time he let the black-haired man display his absolute might. Raw power was emanating from Shahryar, a dark yet gentle aura which hovered around his form like the sour scent of the night. It made Sehara weak in his knees as if he was sick from spending too much time near incense.

When Shahryar finished the kiss and stroked a long blond hair-lock out of the bard's eyes, Sehara grabbed the man's right hand and pulled it to his mouth.

"Thank you, my sultan," he said in a quiet voice before kissing the long fingers.

"What for?," Shahryar asked. "If anyone here needs to say thanks, it should be me."

Sehara shook his head smiling. "You gained the place where you stand now on your own, Shahryar. Be proud of it. Even if you are not their ruler anymore, people are glad that you have returned."

"Nonsense. The only reason they're glad is that Jafar is the sultan now. I can understand that…" For a moment, it seemed as if guilt would have crossed the man's face. "I didn't do much that could have made them proud of me."

Sehara caressed Shahryar's face, right where the scar was seen below his right eye. "But you have changed, everyone can see that. People now take delight in you and this is the only thing that matters. Do not forget the past but let it fade away because there is nothing you can do to change that."

For a long moment, Shahryar looked at Sehara seemingly deep into thoughts, but then shook his head, and the heavy shadows left his face without a trace. What's more, their place was now taken over by wicked lights.

"And do you know just _in_ _what_ the sultan would take delight?" he asked with a sudden grin before sliding a telling hand down on Sehara's side. As the warm palm stilled around his hip, Sehara felt a tingling, excited sensation ripping through his body.

"You are impossible," the blond man whispered.

Shahryar flashed an arrogant smile at him. "Well, yes. You know, I can't have people believe that I'm not capable of getting my way. Or else they will think it was the reason I have lost the throne."

"I highly doubt that there is anyone who would be interested in knowing how you get your way relating to _this_."

"Oh, silence, bard!" Shahryar snapped, and then bent his head down so he could pull Sehara's lower lip between his teeth. "It is your duty to please your master however he may wishes, so get down to it!"

"Very well. I shall go to Jafar now, but is it really what you want? You couldn't have possibly forgotten that as a royal bard, I am in the service of the all-time sultan; he is my master now."

"What?!"

Up to that point Shahryar was leisurely playing with Sehara's ear, producing a fair amount of bite marks on said member in the process (really, one of these days Sehara will end up getting wolfed down by the man) but upon hearing this, he snapped his head up and looked at the blond man with a heavy grimace. He obviously visualised that Sehara and Jafar…

"By Allah, no! No, no, no… You're mine, and mine only. Do you understand, Sehara?" He tilted his head so the ebony locks swept over Sehara's face and planted a hard kiss on the bard's mouth. "Mine only."

Sehara couldn't suppress the soft smile tempting his lips. " _Insallah_ " he whispered obediently, then found Shahryar's hand and intertwined their fingers. "I love you, too."

When he saw the honest smile on the sultan's face, his heart missed a beat, and Sehara felt the remainders of his resistance slipping away without trace. A sweet, tormenting knob sat in his abdomen, in his throat, in his heart and he knew that all the pain and suffering in his life happened with a cause: so that he could be here now, with this person. With him, for him. For ever.

He lifted his arm and gently placed his hand on the man's face – and as soon as Shahryar's lips returned to his mouth, Sehara sighed in happiness.

The sun has just popped its head up from behind the faraway horizon, laying warm light onto the dark sand dunes around the awakening town. The sky broke a flushed rose colour over the rapidly growing sunrays that were reaching deep into the distance, touching every roof, shining through every window, sneaking into every room. A new day dawned. People started to wake up.

The men in one room of the proudly towering palace however were long awake. One of the them sat with his legs pulled to his side, relaxing against the back of the large bed with closed eyes and serene smile, while stroking the jet-black, mellow hair of the person who rested his head on the other's lap. The lying man was awake as well: he pressed his head close to the naked thighs, and played absentmindedly with the long, smooth hair of his companion. The light-coloured locks shone so strongly in the pale morning light as if they were born from brilliant sunrays.

The black-haired man lifted one of these locks to his lips and placed a soft kiss on it.

"Sehara," he said then on a deep, drowsy voice.

The blond didn't open his eyes but answered. "Yes?"

"Tell me a tale."


End file.
